elger aragundi
© 2006 elger aragundi González Suárez y Ernesto Novoa Caamaño, Ed. Monteblanco, Dpto. 1001, Quito, Ecuador Tel: (593 2) 222 9104 elger@aragundi.com Editor: Francisco X. Estrella Coruña 1821 y Ernesto Novoa Caamaño, Quito, Ecuador Teléfono: (593) 225 48734 xontage@usa.com Diseño: Andrés Caicedo V. andres.caicedo@gmail.com Fotografía de las obras: Henry Aylwin Traducción al inglés: Pato Peña Traducción al francés: Pato Peña Derechos de autor No. 33333 ISBN: 899900088777 Poligráfica Guayaquil, Ecuador
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e.aragundi
¿Cómo hace amistad un niño?
ARAGUNDI
COMENCÉ A DIBUJAR a los nueve o diez años. En esa época soñaba con ser arquitecto, con hacer casas y levantarlas. Dibujé un Cristo, la mitad de la cara de Cristo que aún conservo. He amado el arte desde siempre, desde ese lugar, desde aquel tiempo. Pinto por instinto, desde los instintos, no desde el sentimiento: recuerdo mis camisas pintadas, mis blue jeans, mis cuadernos, ese papel manchado de tinta, toda la realidad por pintar. Desde lo inefable, desde lo oscuro, más allá de mi cabeza. Así. MIENTRAS PINTO, TODOS PIENSAN. ¡Interprétenlo! Estoy contra cualquier calificación, cualquier puntuación al arte. Del anónimo que impregnó las paredes de una cueva en Altamira a Rubens, todos pintaron porque creían, no por la posteridad ni el reconocimiento. No quiero parecerme a nadie, toco una música diferente. Mi obra es de trazos fuertes, expresión propia, sin bocetos de fondo, directa sobre el lienzo. Vida sobre vida, fortaleza, deseo que tienta deseo.
How does a child make a friend?
ARAGUNDI
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e.aragundi
I began drawing at nine or ten years of age. At that time I dreamt with becoming an architect, with designing and building homes. I drew a Christ, half was the face of the Christ I still keep. I have loved art since always, from that place, since that time. I paint by instinct, from the instincts, not from feelings: I recall my painted shirts, my blue jeans, my notebooks, the paper with the ink stains, the whole of reality yet to be painted. From the ineffable, from the dark, beyond my mind. Like this. While I paint everyone thinks. Interpret it! I am against any type of grading, any scoring of art. From the anonymous that impregnated the walls of a cave in Altamira to Rubens, they all painted because they believed, not for posterity and not for recognition. I do not want to
resemble anyone, I play a different tune. The movements of my work are strong, with their own expression, without background sketches, direct over the canvas. Life over life, strength, desire that tempts desire. That is how I discover the piece although sometimes nothing comes out: I am patient. I wait until the right idea arrives, with the appropriate expression and colors. My work is like me, I give all of myself to it, on it I am. I presented a photo for a contest. I win an award. It was the first time that I participated in this sort of event. I want to go back and I resend the same photo to win. I await the verdict and my photo does not list among five hundred. With pride I protest, and one of the organizers gets interested in my case. He searches for my photo and says: “your phot did not qualify because the measurements were not correct. If you had worked acordinf g to the rules and paid attention to the requirements you would have certainly done a good job. To send the same photo was not appropriate. You know what?: the prize that was awarded killed the artist.” Since then I respect my work without thinking about awards nor prizes. Once I finish a piece I let it fill me, I let it revitalize me and I wait for the next one. People should attend a de-education school, to reinvent the moment
to start to believe in themselves. How does a child make friends? That is how people should approach other people. I am bothered by people that complain y want: I never look back, I have not learned to humble because I can not pretend to be some other person. Social relationships, social preferences have never mattered to me. I take sleeping pills but I sleep very little. I am productive while I am awake that is how I work at night. I have profited from nighttime since I was young, since I had to work, early on in life. I am proud I did what I wanted, work, compose, travel, paint. Up to now, time at which I am not old or young, I do what I want, sleep and work at will. I have always been like this, I have always been restless and curious. To call myself an artist…doesn’t it sound daring? It is a result of my impatience, being basic and not search for acceptance. I seek individuality, to resemble no one. No one. I don’t feel safe in any place in particular, it all depends how I feel. But I always feel like a tiger Anger is red, the nightmare to forget my passport. If I were a crook I would be a ecanta serpeientes because of the adrenalin it secretes. That is me, this is my history. My name is Aragundi. Elger Aragundi in blue.
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lengua
divina
divina
lengua
Golpea a coletazos sobre la superficie dorada tal vez coquetería desmedida tal vez advertencia al temerario acróbata del salto mortal lustrosa y refulgente habrá de darse abriendo las tapas de la enorme ostra desafiando al espejo que atrapará su imagen para sacarla de tan oscura madre
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va a contemplarla el gesticulador a contemplar los bucles en descenso hacia el rostro iluminado hacia el cuello hacia los senos y en la lengua de uva y en los ojos almibarados su perversión.
It hits in wags on the golden surface perhaps limitless coquetry perhaps warning to the rash one acrobat of the mortal jump lustrous and radiant will give opening the lids of the enormous oyster challenging the mirror that will catch its image to take it out of such dark mother it will contemplate it gesticulating contemplating the curls in descent toward the illuminated face toward the neck toward the breasts and in the language of the vine and in the syrupy eyes their perversion.
Elle frappe à coup de queue sur la surface dorée peut-être par coquetterie démesurée peut-être par avertissement au téméraire acrobate du saut mortel lustrée et lumineuse devront s’ouvrir les bouchons de l’énorme huître défiant le miroir qui attrapera son image pour la sortir d’une mère si obscure il va la contempler le gesticulateur contemple les boucles en descente jusqu’au visage illuminé jusqu’au cou jusqu’aux seins et dans la langue de raisin et dans les yeux sirupeux sa perversion.
l e n g u a
sagrada
sagrada
l e n g u a
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Toi tu prenais soin du silence où tombait la mer (c’était le vent ce qui blanchissait sur la plage) le thon le thon les poissons chasseurs pondaient des questions sur le sable
you took care of the silence where the ocean surfed (it was wind what whitened the beach) the tuna the albacora the dogs of water they spawned questions through the sand
sagrada
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El gato blanco y célibe se mira en la lúcida luna del espejo y no puede saber que esa blancura y esos ojos de oro que no ha visto nunca en la casa son su propia imagen. ¿Quién le dirá que el otro que lo observa es apenas un sueño del espejo? Me digo que esos gatos armoniosos el de cristal y el de caliente sangre, son simulacros que concede el tiempo un arquetipo eterno. Así lo afirma, sombra también, Plotino en las Ennéadas. ¿De qué Adán anterior al paraíso, de qué divinidad indescifrable somos los hombres un espejo roto?
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profana
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elger aragundi